


Hidden Dragons, Crouching Tigers

by AoedeNymph



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Culture, badass overwatch girls, samurai couples are the best couples, understanding hanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoedeNymph/pseuds/AoedeNymph
Summary: Kinoshita Chiyo is an onna-bugeisha/ female samurai who was brought up by monks, and used to be a part of Overwatch during the Golden Age, now tending to her home shrine south of Hanamura, the Inawara-jinja. In his travels, Hanzo stumbled upon her, and despite how strained their interactions were at first, they've managed to find a friend in each-other. Jesse keeps bothering him about her, insisting they have 'a spark'. "Them Asian girls, ain't got much of a behind but they're lookin' mighty pretty." The archer usually just groans in response.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm total trash and I just HAD to write a Hanzo fic; I wasn't going to, but I've had this character for a few years and she seemed to fit pretty well in the lore of Overwatch ( except she fights demons, but, whatever ). It's so weird to write her as a 32 yr old, because I used to rp/write her as being 16. Hope this didn't turn out too cheesy and you guys can enjoy. I feel like a complete dweeb but I kept having plot bunnies with these two so I will occasionally update this. You can probably tell that I drew inspiration from Kikiyou and Sailor Mars. Also - the title is a Chinese proverb. Seemed fitting. Disclaimer: I have a thing for guys who try to act tough. No actual romance through the chapter - just magical friendship.

 

It was a very strange concept that a murderer affiliated with one of Hanamura’s most vicious mafia clans had recently started staying at the shrine of a neighbouring city, Inawara-jinja; it wasn’t a permanent thing, more like occasional visits that even the most sceptical elders had come to accept; after all, it was the will of the head-priestess Kinoshita Chiyo, also known as a former Overwatch agent and ex-Lieutenant of the Japanese branch during the Golden Age.

 

Chiyo hadn’t actually met Hanzo until the beginning of that year, when she decided to retake her mantle as a soldier for the international peacekeeping organization; it was definitely a strained relationship at first, but, as her friend Genji seemed to reconcile more with his brother, she ended up getting to know the archer as well; underneath his stoic appearance, he was not that bad of a company. Sometimes. When he didn’t act like he owned the place.

 

 _She_ owned the place. It was _her shrine_.

 

Lost and distraught, Hanzo had been wandering the world on his own, more than once stumbling into people and situations that were way over his head; Talon hits, confrontations with Overwatch’s strike team, even old Blackwatch members like McCree; and, needless to say, he had crossed the miko’s path a few times. Coerced by Genji, he ended up visiting her shrine occasionally, to clear his head. In a way, he felt like both of them were attending counsellors to try and fix their broken relations. He was more than certain that the Omnic monk, the priestess and his brother had planned a conspiracy in an attempt to pacify him. It ticked him off, although he couldn’t deny that the woman’s shrine was surprisingly pleasant and it brought him a sense of peace whenever he dropped by.

 

The brisk air of the evening was setting in; it was his favourite time of the day. Most often than not, he found himself stargazing, quietly sipping sake on a secluded porch of the well-established shrine, away from the eyes of any visitors or residents; all except for one specific pair, who always knew exactly where he was whenever darkness started seeping through the last rays of sun.

 

“Good evening” he found himself greeting her first before she even got the chance to come into his line of sight, purposely letting her know that he had heard her coming. He didn’t move his gaze to the side to glimpse at her, but his ears picked up the soft shuffling of her red hakama and white haori as she took a seat next to him, feet folding neatly underneath the weight of her body. The colours of her miko outfit suited her oddly well, melding harmoniously with the darkness of her hair, as if she was taken out of a yukio-e, the traditional Japanese paintings on wood, often depicting folk tales and female beauties. It was a strange image association that seemed to have stuck in his head.

 

“Ah, but I am a warrior, not a ninja. My steps were not trained to be silent” she always reminded him, although she never seemed to carry either her naginata or her sword when they spent their evenings idly chatting away at her shrine. A bushi – no, _onna-bugeisha_ ; a female samurai. It still eluded him; he thought they were mere legends, at least in their day and age, but Chiyo had a habit of surprising him, as he had learned over the last few months.

 

From the corner of his eye, Hanzo caught a glimpse of what she was holding onto – a jug, bearing writing in black ink on the front; it caught his attention, so he turned his head towards her with a questioning look, to which she smiled faintly. “I’ve noticed your affinity for osake. I thought… you might appreciate this. It is sacred sake from our shrine” she explained, gingerly holding it out for him to get a better look; his expression, like most of the time, was cold and partially unreadable. “I’ve given it my personal blessings” she added in jester, trying to break the ice, although it was actually true. “We have a very talented brewer; the taste is genuinely great. We’re rather famous for it.”

 

Hanzo merely hummed, slightly surprised by her offer. Sacred sake wasn’t something to give away lightly, even if she was the shrine’s authority. It had _meaning_ , but he couldn’t quite make out what exactly. Did she want him to take it and go? Was it a parting gift, to let him know he was unwanted there? He had probably overstayed his welcome, knowing he had no place in a holy sanctuary. It was obvious that most of the priests and the new trainees were uneasy whenever he was around. He was an impurity, and he would heed her wish to leave.

 

“Ah!” Lost in thought, he had almost forgotten about her actual presence next to him, only snapping out of the reverie when he heard her let out a small gasp. She seemed distraught, her shoulders slouching, and he noticed her move away a little. “I apologize! I’ve overstepped my bounds” Chiyo digressed, gaze dropping. She looked like a sad puppy; the exact face Genji would make when Hanzo scolded him, right before sticking his tongue out and calling him a bully.

 

“Not at all.”

 

Strong arms reached to take the jug, fingers brushing against hers for a split moment; her skin felt a lot rougher than it looked; not that it bothered him in particular, since his own hands weren’t exactly soft as a feather. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, not mouthing a word, but visibly happier. “Your gift is… welcome. Domo.”

 

There was something about the way joy pooled in over her features, her mantis orbs brightening considerably; the corners of her mouth curved into a grin, rosy lips stretching to reveal her teeth. She never smiled when they first met; no, Kinoshita-san was quite similar to him at first sight, and it was still a mechanism she used whenever threatened, as if surpassing all of her emotions. It was almost hard to believe that this giggly woman who had faith in divinities was the same agent he saw on the field, with a deadly grip on her weapons, slicing through opponents like it was child’s play; apparently, she had been even more fierce when she was Lieutenant, and he was glad he had not been around to witness that. There were times when the duality of her personality creeped him out a bit, even if he undeniably admired her for her strength.

 

“I’m most pleased to hear that, Hanzo-dono.”

 

That was one of those times.

 

While, at first, she had threatened to kill him, and was extremely wary of him, they had both eased into a tense acquaintance due to Genji, only to end up getting used to each-other on his behalf. She had become a good friend of the cyborg ever since Overwatch, and, in the back of his mind, the older brother appreciated the fact that his sibling hadn’t been as lonely as him in the past years.

 

“You don’t use keigo like this with Genji” Hanzo injected after a short silence. Chiyo used considerably more honorifics and formal speech when addressing him, while the conversations she had with Genji were a lot more casual and relaxed, adding to the fact that they called each-other only by their names, or followed by affectionate suffixes. By the way he said it, the woman almost thought he was upset by it. Admittedly, she was closer in age to Genji, while Hanzo was older than her by a good six years.

 

“You two are very different, much alike my brother and I. You have the same aura as Takeshi; demanding of respect, imposing authority.” She spoke gently, almost melancholically, completely opposite of how sharp and unforgiving she reacted to him when they first met. Takeshi Kinoshita had been the Captain of the Japanese annex of Overwatch as well as Chiyo’s older sibling; after the bombing at the OW Headquarters, he had gone AWOL, which caused his sister to resign in mourning. Presently, he had still not returned, but something had made the priestess join the fight once again; there were rumours that she was getting involved in an incredibly large plot which involved several world-renowned companies as well as the leading terrorist organization, and even whispers in the wind of the scandalous Blackwatch.

 

Chiyo shook her head, stifling a laugh as she bought a curled hand to her chin. “To be honest, it used to annoy me at first, how self-assured you are.” It was not surprising; the initial distaste for him had been made very clear. “Likewise. I used to dislike you for the superiority you emanated, especially as a woman.”

 

In many aspects, the priestess and the former mafia agent were very similar – whenever in danger, Chiyo became very cool-headed and cold, using the detachment from her personality in order to perform better in battle. Achieving the rank of Lieutenant at a young age had been incredibly difficult, but she strived to keep up with her brother, so that they wouldn’t be separated because of the difference in their ranks. Due to this, she had become competitive and hard-working, always pushing herself and strengthening her confidence to keep up with the physical strain. The importance of the mission’s success had been incredibly valuable to her, fighting through hell in order to maintain the 100% completion rate on her profile.

 

Chiyo always struggled to be at the top, to prove herself despite her age and despite the disapproval of the monks who raised her. As a consequence, she had come to resemble Takeshi, calm and collected but bold, never faltering in front of anything or anyone; _a warrior’s resolve,_ he had taught her. It was clear that nothing would stand in her way, not her background, her age, her gender or her lack of physical strength – thus she used the naginata, a perfect weapon for her body, with which she could manipulate her opponent and strike from afar.

 

It had become amusing to see people underestimate her, even if it frustrated her terribly back when she was in her early twenties. “How traditional of you. But Overwatch is a place of strength, in which women have comfortably made their place. You must have realized that your perception was wrong.” She was being a little cocky, evidently proud.

 

Hanzo was at a loss. His judgement had certainly been disproved. Apparently, his life was a cycle of realizations that he had been wrong in everything he did or believed. Brushing the thought aside, he decided to continue. “There are… different kinds of strength, which I had been too blind to see until now.” The hesitation in his voice made Chiyo’s curiosity spike as she leaned forward, nose twitching lightly, resting her arm beside her on the wooden surface. “Such as?”

 

The assassin averted his gaze to the side, hands still in proximity of the jug, and he remembered that he had not even opened it yet. Fingers pinched the cap, unscrewing it open, as a faint scent of alcohol filled the air between them.

 

“Compassion.”

 

The smell was crisp, enticing, proving the miko’s words from earlier. It was quality sake… and she had chosen to gift it to him. How strange. He had forgotten what getting close to people felt like. The way Chiyo spoke almost made Hanzo drowsy; her words were not unkind, but cut clean through with their sharpness, although she said them so daintily, it almost felt like she was reading him a bedtime story.

 

“Naturally, you would not see it. It’s your greatest weakness. It was impossible for me to think you could create a bond with anyone in this world.” That was a harsh remark, but fully honest, and the man found himself appreciating the raw sincerity, even if he didn’t tend to take insults lightly. He realized that Chiyo had taken the jug from him, pouring the drink in two small cups for both of them. It was common courtesy for her to perform that action instead of him, and it impressed him that she followed up to tradition so well with every occasion.

 

He reached over to pick up his drink, raising it to his lips to get a taste. It was exquisite, sending a wave of warmth through him. Hanzo saw her quietly drink as well, before lowering her hands to her lap. He emptied his cup, placing it back next to the jug, deciding to play along with her game. “What changed your mind?”

 

The reply was immediate, as if spoken in a heartbeat – not something that would require debating. It was clear in her mind. “I’ve come to see you as a friend.” Eyelids slid open even more, brown eyes staring down at the priestess. Well. That was certainly not something he heard every day.

 

“… a friend” he repeated slowly, not even hiding how incredulous he found it.

 

“And while you must’ve been a terrible brother, I am sure, in your heart, it was never ill-intended. You were harsh, unforgiving; but for the sake of those around you. For your family. For your brother.” She wasn’t pitying him – no, there was something different in the look she gave him. It was sympathy, as if she resonated strongly with his disastrous path, as if she knew him far before, in a distant past, a time when they had been closer than two intertwining vines. In his face, Chiyo could see a ghost of Takeshi’s features. She swallowed the dry pain in her throat, managing to maintain a smile, although weak.

 

“You think too highly of me, priestess. All the things I have done… I did them for honour, no matter how terrible. For my own selfishness. I always had to be the strongest, the most disciplined. A son worthy to lead an empire of crime.” Hanzo’s fist clenched, his tongue clicking down in disgust at himself, although he maintained his composure through his will of iron. “Something your father loved to force into your mind, I reckon.” Chiyo couldn’t help herself; she had heard enough from Genji about their father to dislike him greatly, despite never meeting the man in person.

 

While burdened terribly by his father, the archer never found the strength in his heart to hate him, not even after he was forced to end his younger brother in order to appease the clan. His father had been a remarkable man, despite his faults. A man Hanzo could never become, regardless of how much he sacrificed. “It is bad fortune to speak ill of the dead; I thought someone as spiritual as you would know." For some reason, she felt like an actual child when he disciplined her, a weird phenomenon that she had discussed with Genji before – _it’s just something he does to everyone_ , they concluded, and she reaffirmed it in the back of her head as she flickered her gaze somewhere else, reaching to scratch her cheek awkwardly with a faint blush in her cheeks. “Forgive me.”

 

Hanzo almost had an impulse to fold his arms, but he decided against it, relaxing instead as he leaned back, propping onto his hands as they held up his weight. The definition of his musculature stood against the fabric of his outfit, something the miko noticed in awe; undoubtedly, he was in peak physical condition, unlike her. Shaking his head, he let out a small sigh, staring blankly at nothing in particular, oblivious to the stare fixed on him.  “… while it was impertinent, there may have been truth in your words.”

 

Almost encouraged by the compliance, she bit down into the side of her cheek to muster up the nerve to continue, wishing not to start an argument, but more to clarify and set a few matters in stone, matters that had been bothering her for a while. “Even if you did everything to please your father, he never showed much affection. Instead, to earn his approval, you simply ended up melding yourself into his ghost.” Her gaze softened, wishing, in the depths of her consciousness, to reach out and lay one of her hands over his; but, given how inappropriate it would be, she disregarded the thought as quickly as it came; sometimes, the expression of loneliness on his face became unbearable, even for her. She couldn’t tell if he had been genuinely bothered by the boldness of her speech, or if he was bemused. “Is that what your spirits tell you?”

 

 _Ah, there we go._ The sarcasm. Fists grabbing on to the crimson fabric of her clothes, she fixed her orbs on him, lush willow meeting a sea of freshly-roasted coffee; her short temper was showing through the irritated tone in her voice. Why couldn’t he see what she wanted to tell him? She wasn’t looking to pick a fight. “No. The way you hold yourself does. And the way your past haunts you. The precision of your arrows, and the anger in your eyes.”

 

A chuckle erupted from his throat, slightly condescending. “A psychic too, I see.” She wasn’t finished.

 

“But sometimes you smile; you even laugh; it resonates nicely and the deepness of your voice frames the rest of your aged features, like the streak of grey in your hair, and the lines that form over your eyebrows when you react with such honesty; you are honourable, perseverant. Fiercely loyal; even if sometimes misplaced.” Her soul was aflame, not sure herself why she became so passionate about Hanzo’s redemption; but she felt so linked to him, somehow. She couldn’t let him be, wandering around like a ghost in denial. Why did he keep torturing himself?

 

The priestess was becoming irksome; he had certainly not expected the conversation to stray so far from idle chatter for an evening spent drinking sake under the moon; but perhaps it was a lot more poetic. His father would have loved to hear about it, what with his tales of dragons. “I’m certain I did not book an appointment for your psychoanalysis.” He didn’t back away from the staredown, their eyes stubbornly fixed on each-other. Why would she pay so much attention to him, to observe and remember all of those particularities? He had not expected her to be this sharp.

 

Heated up, Chiyo nudged out her knee to reach forward, eyebrows furrowing, before she took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, mindlessly tracking his sharp jawline with her gaze, causing her to lose track of her ardor for a moment. Hanzo had to bite back a muffled chuckle; what a child, getting worked up over nothing. “Maybe not. But even if so, I’m sure you needed to hear someone tell you, in all honesty, that you are a good man.”

 

The archer stood silently, eyes narrowing to try and catch a glimpse of dishonesty in the frame of her face, to no avail. He watched her skin, paled by the moonlight, glaring at her like he was going to take an arrow out of his quiver and place it right between her eyes. She was rambling, and it reminded him of the way Genji annoyed him with his endless talking. Chiyo had been glancing up at the moon, but, as she spoke the words that seemed to strike him straight through his chest, her gaze turned to him, almost startling the bowmaster with her approach, who continued to muse in disbelief at her words. No, he had distanced himself from people to avoid anything like his previous mistakes ever happening again; she was a priestess, it was her job to try and bring everyone salvation. He was nothing special, it was probably a speech she had memorized for every poor soul that she encountered.

 

“I believe in you, and I know you will do everything you can to atone for your sins; not because you’re religious, or because you want to save the world, but because you are Hanzo, of the Shimada clan, and you never give up on achieving your goals; because I see myself in you, and I never, ever quit.”

 

He could feel his lips parting, as if to try and give back a snarky reply, but his mouth was left slightly agape, sight lost in the jade of her eyes; he was almost intimidated by how warm and straight-forward her gaze was on him, and it reminded him so much of his brother that he felt one of his heartstrings snap.

 

“Oyasumi, Hanzo-dono.”

 

The reply came only after she had stood up from the porch and headed to the premises of her quarters, voice lowered to a hushed breath, as he was left staring solitarily at the endless night sky, stars twinkling weakly in the distance, the navy deepness staring him down in return.

 

“… oyasumi.”


End file.
